…is just about as good as everyone says. I’ll spoil nothing, and say little here–but I’m curious about others’ responses. I enjoyed the hell out of it, and it’s a mean little machine for producing tension.
I had found myself unable to get past page 10 of the novel, because it seemed to ooze portent in ways that became pretentious; yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it: the arbitrary ephemeral nature of human morality, the bleak brutal clockwork of vicious, even evil fate. The film’s, I think, far better–such high-hatted import doesn’t matter much when you’re watching Llewellyn swim too slowly away from the furious advance of a pit bull, visible only from the head up, moving inexorably closer and closer.
But the precision of the film’s plot, look, sound, suspense do work just too well enough to make one step back and pay attention, particularly in the fine closing monologue by Tommy Lee Jones’ sheriff, to such weighty subtext. What I appreciated was that the film seemed less to reflect about existential philosophy than the pleasures of revenge, genre, cinema — for me, Bardem’s evil Chigurh is less a force of nature than a vision of our own pleasures.
And I’ve puttered around trying to find a way to say what I mean without discussing the end, and couldn’t. So… I’ll wait a bit ’til some have seen the film.